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Toga.

Living in the country has its disadvantages. Well, let me back up. When Marlboro Man and I were first falling in love and starting our life together, he took me on a drive along some back roads on some property that neighbored his ranch. Through a thicket of trees, I saw an old homestead. A woman, wearing only a bra and underwear, was pushing a lawnmower. It was a strange and disturbing site, but not half as disturbing as my fear of what sort of future awaited me in the country.

I don’t mow the yard in my bra and underwear; never have. But the only reason I don’t is that I’m shy—old ballet neuroses—and don’t prance around in my bra and underwear in the house, let alone out in the yard, let alone while pushing a lawn mower. Man, would that be an interesting sight. But here’s the thing: I could if I wanted to. Because no one ever comes through here.

I worry even less about it early in the morning, when it’s hardly light outside…and when photo opportunities abound.

This particular morning was beautiful. I was undressed—in between pajamas and clothes—and happened to catch the colors of the sunrise out my bedroom window. And I knew it would be over in a matter of minutes; I simply had to hurry. So I ran, uncharacteristically naked, into the laundry room and grabbed the only thing I could find: a curtain. Yes, a curtain. Yes, a small, white curtain, which I’d washed and dried and folded the day before. I didn’t mind that it was a curtain. Anything was better than naked.

I wrapped the curtain, toga-style, over my uncharacteristically naked body, threw on sandals, and bolted down to the dock. And I was glad I’d hurried. Because I almost missed the sunrise.

It took me a minute before I saw this.

It was a cattle truck arriving unexpectedly, delivering a load of steers. And there I stood, the morning light bathing my toga, illuminating my shame and my ballet demons from the past.

“You’re FAT!” the demons cried. “You’re JIGGLY! You shouldn’t have eaten that Ding Dong after school!” I HATE it when the demons start in on me. Especially when they bring up the Ding Dongs.

And then, to my left and to my horror, I heard a honk. It was Josh, bidding me good morning. And faintly, through his window, I could see him waving. Waving at my toga and my demons and my shame.

And at my sandals. Nice, eh?

So there I stood, on our dock, wearing only a toga and some dang ugly sandles. And all would have been fine if I didn’t have to walk in clear view of the cattle pens to get to the back door of my house. I didn’t know who I’d rather remove from that situation entirely, the truck driver or Josh. I tried to choose both, but the powers that be wouldn’t permit it. In fact, the powers that be wouldn’t even listen to me.

That is so funny! I’m always walking to the kitchen in my bra, praying the I can make it in and out before the neighbors see me through the window. One of these days I just know I’m going to get caught. how embarassing that would be!

Ack — the Artist Formerly Known as Bossy’s Next Husband Josh doesn’t mind! He’ll see a lot worse when he and Bossy get hitched, when the only ding dong within one-hundred yards of you will be Bossy herself.